


Atropos

by Guixi



Series: The Eclipse of Morgan le Fay [3]
Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: AU, Action, Canon Divergence, Claire-centric, F/M, Gen, Gratutious Welsh, Hints of Stricklake, Season 2 spoilers, Suspense, Talk of Witchcraft, There's not a lot of fluffy good happy feelings in this, Tobias and Claire form a friendship in Jim's absence, Trolls still do not have human morality, Violence, darker and edgier, headcanons, sequel story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-01 04:41:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13287204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guixi/pseuds/Guixi
Summary: Two weeks. Jim was in the Darklands for two weeks.In that time, Claire Nuñez must deal with the aftermath of her meeting with Morgan le Fay, which includes being under the tutelage of Angor Rot. As she struggles with this, she and the rest of the fragmented Trollhunters gang must devise a way to rescue the Champion of Merlin.Sequel to Moirai.





	1. Unbecoming

**Author's Note:**

> I have no self control, I had no plans of writing a sequel so soon but.. when the inspiration and motivation is there, you shouldn't stop it, so here we are.
> 
> For newcomers: Moirai isn't absolutely essential to read to enjoy this story, but if you keep in mind that Claire is the acolyte of le Fay similar to how Jim is the champion of Merlin, then you should have no problem with the differences.

Claire wondered. Did Jim hate her? Did he go into the Darklands thinking she was dead after what looked like a heroic sacrifice on her behalf – despite the fact she'd sealed herself for a fate worse than if she'd submitted to martyrdom? Did he even stop for one second? He let his heart rule his mind and they were left suffering the heartbreak. Yet .. she did not think ill of him, at first. Her thoughts turned inward, sour and bitter and befouling with scalding comments and reflective spite that could only be made introspectively.

She shuffled into her house like her body moved autonomously. She was still soaking wet, though it had dried off into a dampness that clung like an icy blanket and bit into her bone. Everything was numb, her hair stuck stubbornly to her face like needles as she brushed the straggly strands out from her misty gaze. She passed a mirror on her way to the stairs, and she paused to look at the morose young woman staring blankly back. She looked like a ghost of herself, the sigil that had burned so harshly before, now nothing more than a gentle, faded imprint.

As she hobbled up the stairs her footfalls was joined by the foreboding off-beat of the staff _thunking_ onto every other step. It hadn't retracted like she'd expected it would have, but it was oddly quiet. No silent, ghastly wails straining in her ear-drums like noise she couldn't quite hear. It was slumbering and pure white. It was content to feast slowly, imperceptible nibbles at a time. She shifted the staff to her submissive hand as her dominant reached for the towel cupboard in the bathroom, pulling out a sizeable one to sink her face into.

She thought about sleeping. She felt so unnaturally tired, but Claire knew that if she did not warm up, then come the morning she would be sick as a dog. She'd never done well to handle the cold. A hot bath was drawn, and peeling out of sticky, wet clothes she gave one last pitiful look at her favourite band t-shirt before discarding the lot in the hamper. The scorching heat of the hot water was a momentary comfort, but one she did not find herself appreciating.

She sat rigid in the tub, knees drawn, head resting on her propped knees and arms encircled around herself, gazing distantly at the tiles of the wall. Jim had promised them.. they would all go together – and yet, she felt so responsible for his decision. She doubted he had any desire to fight the dreaded Gunmar in his own prison. No, he was rescuing her brother and hoping to survive along the way. God, why had he done it!? He – he didn't even say _**goodbye**_.

Claire sunk in the water, almost entirely submerged as she stewed. A soft splash was heard as she rose her hands – staring at the blistered skin of her palms from where the Inferna Copula had burned her. Who was she to scorn James Lake Jr? Her fate was magically bound to another's. Her destiny altered because she wanted to do what she thought was the _**right**_ thing to do.

Was it _right_ of her to accept Morgan le Fay's proposal? She should've denied her and died at the hands of her pet troll. Now.. who knows what would become of her. It was foolish of her to think that she had done anything other than seal her future to whatever dark plans the fae had in mind, just like Angor Rot had when he visited Morgan all those years ago. Did she honestly think she would be able to control the dark magic..?

She had to _**try**_.

Angor Rot.. She didn't know if there was any language available that could properly convey how much she hated him. Claire thought she was helping – truly helping the _sadistic assassin_ – to be free and he'd played her like a fiddle. Why, oh why, did she expect anything less? Like a flash fire that only burned more intensely water tried to douse it, she dreaded to think there had been many like her before her time that had thought they saw the good in him. How many had he manipulated for Morgan? How many poor, unfortunate souls had been ripe for the taking to their dark cause?

Claire snapped out of her thoughts when her scrubbing was beginning to hurt; turning her pale skin, flushed with the heat, an angry red. As if she could just wash it all away.

At the very least, the bath refreshed her and she padded silently to her room, clad head to toe in giant, fluffy towels. She carried the staff with her on instinct – as well as checking the corner of her bedroom, the same one that the aforementioned troll had once been days prior. She eyed the area with newfound scrutiny, something she wouldn't have had if she wasn't so paranoid on keeping track of the hunter's habits, before deeming it private enough to dry and change into her pyjamas.

Sinking under her covers, she glared at the Shadowstaff that remained fully formed, even now. It usually acted with a mind of it's own, a sort of sentience even if she thought that to be impossible – but useful for when it reacted to her emotional state. But it was being wilfully stubborn, forcing her to grab it's hilt and shake it to no avail. Deciding that the staff's seeming lack of co-operation was the least of her worries, she tossed the cursed thing to the floor and slid further under her duvet.

Claire didn't expect to get any sleep, and her expectations were matched. She laid in bed for a grand total of ten minutes before she sat up and swiped her phone, opening the lock screen to gaze at the somewhat recent picture of Jim smiling off to the side. She'd taken it during their day out with Blinky when he was a human, a time she'd seen him lower his guard and relax. Her thumb hovered over where his cheek was. “Oh, Jim..”

The illusion of normalcy broke as the weight of all what had happened crashed down all around her.

The collected storm of her thoughts finally let loose it's rainfall and great, fat tears streamed down her face as she sobbed. A few drops of tears splattered onto the phone screen and she discarded it somewhere on her bed to draw her knees up and bury her face. She didn't try to stop it. All the stress, the worry, the irritation bled out into the salty, bitter tears that leaked out of her ducts, flowing seemingly endlessly. She cried and cried and even when she thought to stop for a shaky, heaving breath, more bitterness was spilt.

She couldn't do this. What was she thinking? Each harsh thought accumulated into a headache as she tried to muffle her convulsive gasps. She was in over her head. She was going to get them all killed – not just herself, but Jim, for making him feel obligated to rescue her brother. Toby, Blinky, Vendel – 

Claire barely noticed that someone had slipped into her room, stony feet and claws alike pitter-pattering across the plush carpet until little paws were trying to tug her legs down to unfurl her. She refused to budge until she heard NotEnrique's soft voice. “C'mon now, sis, lemme in.”

She said nothing, voice hiccuping as she tried to quieten her crying into something more manageable and more controlled, but she'd always been an ugly blubberer. Her face was red and stained, her eyes puffy and the largest frown the changeling ever saw. He was squinting his cat-like eyes, ears pinned back and even the coarse brown fur looked droopy and adhering to gravity.

He spread his arms wide. “Rein it in, sis', come on, no protesting. I don't give these out for free usually, so take it.”

Claire sniffled, a half-second smile fighting off her frown before it gave up that battle. She appreciated the sentiment the half-breed offered in any case. She leaned a little bit forward as NotEnrique waddled up, wrapping his arms around her strongly and patting her back. He could feel her slump heavily into the embrace and even scratched at the bit of fur on his back. He muttered some nonsense words in Trollish just to fill the silence with anything other than her sniffles and wounded whimpers.

“Don't be getting snot in my fur now,” he warned her benignly. “I just cleaned meself up. Even put the toys away so you didn't have to and didn't keep Momma too busy for you. So, whose the chump I gotta introduce to my fist for making my sis' cry? Cause I'll kill 'im, I swear I will.”

“Me,” she croaked and at least had the dignity to wince at how broken her own voice sounded, shattered with emotion. She hadn't really calmed, but she stopped wailing and was instead wallowing in spent upset. Exhaustion – coupled with a great sadness made for a bad combination. She tightened her hug on NotEnrique, whom, being made of stone, did not mind the squeeze.

The changeling pulled back, eyeing her critically before conceding to some silent point he'd made. “Alright, I get it. Youse a big girl who don't need her ' _baby_ ' brother kickin' the shit out of nobody. But you're coming with me, I'm not leaving you like this-- ” She sniffled “ – And for Merlin's sake, blow your nose!”

He gave her a fake glare, which was enough to spot her lips twitch and fight the horrendous frown that marred her face. She reached for her box of tissues to do just that, discarding the used tissue into the bin before letting NotEnrique tug her out of bed with a little impatience. He even held her hand so she didn't get discouraged and return back into her pit of despair. Leading Claire downstairs, he instructed her to sit on the couch whilst he messed in the kitchen.

A few minutes pass and Claire was ready to investigate where her brother had gotten off to. She rose, but she needn't bother as NotEnrique came strolling in with a glass of milk clutched in between his paws. She blinked, and for one surreal moment she remembered heating up some milk and feeding the real Enrique once, and a fond, yet sombre smile cast away her frown. He waited until she settled back into the seat before offering it her. It was warm.

“NotEnrique..” she started, enclosing her hands around the beverage and letting the lukewarmth soothe her blistered palms, even through the bandages she put around them to avoid suspicion. “You didn't have to --”

“Ah, ah,” he silenced her with a shush, crawling up to sit beside her, wiggle his claws and sink nicely into the cushioned couch, arms snugly behind his head as his yellowish eyes dimmed and closed. “Course I didn't have'ta. But I wanted to, youse – just drink it up, okay? It'll make you feel better. And I promise I aint babying you, it really does help. Weird, huh? Humans and their strange drinks. Should be labelled medicine.”

Wiping at her face, Claire nodded and smiled weakly at her not-baby brother, taking a slow sip of the milk. She'd never been that much into milk outside of having it with cereal, but for once NotEnrique was right. It was like manna sent from heaven to cure all that ailed her. She followed his recline similarly, forcing herself to relax as she nursed the drink.

Letting the bottom rest on the flat of her stomach, she reached out with her free hand to smooth the fur on top of his head, followed by scratching the one place under his ear he liked. It was the closest thing to an affectionate, platonic gesture that transcended the two cultures. He melted under her touch and she was sure the vibrations she felt were a purr. It kinda made her grin, thinking that trolls were capable of such a thing. She was sure it was exclusive to the kind of small changeling NotEnrique was, unfortunately.

Claire knew he was expecting an answer, though. He just wasn't pressing her yet, letting her settle down with the warm milk.

For a moment, she let her worries go, let it wash away not by furious futile scrubbing but by the kind gesture of another. She drained the rest of the drink and placed the glass on the table, scooping NotEnrique up. He didn't protest as she held him much like she would Enrique, and it was a comfort he'll not complain about. He almost contemplated switching into his human guise had he not felt it might've been in bad taste and make things worse.

“Everything just.. crashed down at me at once.” she explained loosely, chin resting on the top of his head. He was quite snug, so he remained still as he listened. Sometimes the cracked inflection of her voice made his ears flick, which she felt brush on the underside of her chin. “Jim's.. well, him feeling like he had an obligation to fill. My.. my own actions, throughout it all. Not being honest with anyone until they pretty much discovered it themselves.. and – and the future, is so uncertain now.”

“Don't beat yourself up over it.” the changeling helpfully offered, paws resting over her enveloped arms. “I think you already moped enough 'n you sounded pretty genuinely sorry. Maybe I wasn't the greatest support either, but, what's done is done. Crying aint going to magically yank the Trollhunter outta the Darklands. We gotta go pull him out by our own hands.”

“You were a sorely needed slap in the face. I still can't believe I invited Strickler over with barely a plan,” she grumbled, eyes cast to the ceiling, before back to NotEnrique. “ – But what _**can**_ we do? The portal's closed. Only Jim – or well, the Trollhunter, can open it.”

He wiggled enough that her grip around him dropped and he sat facing her at her knees, legs crossed as he gaze imploringly upwards. Even after the milk and the comfort, she only looked marginally better. He squeezed her hand very gently. “Look, just forget about all this for one day. You've been through enough 'n you haven't even told me what happened in the day you were gone.”

Claire was silent. Not telling her friends had been a source of stress for her she could've done without, so with a tired sigh she nodded heavily. “Tomorrow. I'll tell you tomorrow, for sure. I really could do with a rest that lasts an entire week at best.”

“Young Artemis, resting from her hunt until the next quarry and bonding with her.. impure animal she considers family. How quaint.”

Several things happened in barely a moment's passing. NotEnrique leapt off from Claire's lap long before she shot up in alarm. He deftly landed on all fours and in a rare moment of bravery she'd never seen in the self-serving changeling, stood between her and Angor Rot with hackles raised and multitude of tusks and fangs bared like an aggressive dog. Her hand reached for the Shadowstaff's hilt that she often clipped behind her, only to recall that she was in her purple pyjamas.

Angor Rot stared amusedly down at the small troll that thought he actually stood a chance, though even still he never underestimated an opponent, no matter how big or small. Claire found he looked no different from when they'd first met, or last parted in Bulgaria – tall, ashen grey stone for skin. Sharp horns and gold adornments she could only guess the significance of and patches of missing stone where he'd cut his own flesh to carve his dark totems, revealing the glint of blue living-stone within.

Her brows locked into a furious glare that would make Hell freeze over and it barely phased the ancient assassin. Her angry, irritated eyes made her gaze all the more cutting. “I am in _no mood_ to play your games, Angor Rot. Leave.”

“Have you forgotten your deal so _soon_?” he purred, knowing that she hadn't. He was supposed to be leaving her to rest for a few days – to recover from the shellshock, but whilst he had limitless patience on a hunt: out of it, was not so much. She must have great endurance if she was to learn le Fay's magics, let alone wield them for herself as he predicted she no doubt intended.

He knew her type: acolytes before had made the deal thinking similarly, how they would not be corrupted and stand pure. Do the _right_ thing, help their misbegotten friends into whatever adventures they got caught in.

They were all dead, a faded cliff-note on History's books.

He stepped forward, intending to close the distance between them when he was halted by the irritating yapping of the small troll. “-- Don't you dare step any closer to _my sister_ or I'll rip out your bloody throat, you rotting, miserable pile of rocks! _”_

Angor Rot easily slipped into a crouch, regarding the changeling like one might a curious looking insect before the urge to squash them outgrew the brief fascination. “You taught _it_ to speak,” he mocked in fake surprise; orange, eyes widening before the light of which burned intensely at NotEnrique. “ – And make _it_ believe **it** actually has family. Perhaps I underestimated your cruelness, little huntress.”

Claire hissed, but NotEnrique beat her to the punch. Quite literally, as he pounced with such feral speed, even the master of the hunt did not expect him to latch onto his horns so quickly and scratch at his face. Angor Rot stumbled back, claws furiously trying to pry the clinging changeling off from him, words spitting in their ancient language as gold light formed in his hand, intending to burn the creature off. The changeling snapped in turn, the pair trading colourful exchanges that, for once, Claire was thankful she did not know the translation of.

The scent of burning fur hung in the air like a foul stench when Angor pried NotEnrique off of his face, throwing him with abandon. He hit the wall, unperturbed. He looked quite ready to rustle up for round two, though he had something spherical in his mouth, clutched tightly in between fang and tusk alike.

Claire realized, along with the sight of the gaping hole in the troll's eye socket – he'd taken Angor's left eye.

They'd taken to keep their conversation in their language, leaving Claire in the dark. They both sounded alien when speaking their language; the low, gravel-like rumble of stone was intensified to the point it was hard to discern that Angor was actually speaking, and NotEnrique, even with his mouthful, was a lot less raspier than she expected. Not content to remain idle as the two looked ready to fight again, with every slow step Angor took matched by three or four of NotEnrique's bounds, the teen girl let her fury control her.

The assassin made a move to swipe at NotEnrique, whom scurried away to safety, only to see that Angor hadn't even came close, blocked by the outstretched Shadowstaff in Claire's hand. She looked just as surprised to see it in her injured palms as he did, though she brushed it aside for practicality, forcing the troll back by the prongs. He oddly complied with her herding, wrath melting into a fanged grin that was more sinister and promised worse than frenzy.

“I don't care what you do or say to me,” she says, inwardly wondering why it was now the Shadowstaff complied with her, when she actively thought of it – actively _**wanted**_ to use it, instead of letting it just react from her emotional state. “But if you _EVER_ hurt NotEnrique, you better hope there is a spell that can resurrect trolls.”

“You speak a lot of threat,” he brushed it off easily. She was not the first person to have done so, nor would she be the last. “But, I wonder – have you ever truly ended someone's life? Have you watched the light in their eyes extinguish before you– by your very own hands? The ever-lasting _thrill_ during a final kill when their body's vain struggles fades into limpness?”

Her staff remained unerring, but she did not answer.

“I thought not.” he said smugly. His single eye drifted to NotEnrique, grin dropping to a snarl as the troll had not relinquished his grip on his glass, magical eye. “Order that _thing_ to give me back my eye.”

“Go an' boil yer ugly head!” the changeling in question stated. He spat the eye out into his paw, shouting something in their shared tongue which seemed to provoke Angor Rot to make another attempt at him. He was stopped once more by the Shadowstaff's prongs hooking into his neck and forcing him to stand down as NotEnrique scampered away with the eye. The assassin's singular burning gaze returned to match Claire's equally infuriated one.

“I am in no mood.” she quietly repeated to him in a deathly calm that would've made even a Gumm-Gumm give pause, before drawing the staff back, twisting it around and creating him a portal to somewhere dark, shaded, and far, far away from her house. “I don't care if you're impatient. I know that we are going to be seeing a lot of each other from now on and trust me, I don't like that any more than _you_ do.”

She gritted her teeth. “But I am tired. I need to _**sleep**_. Eight hours of it. Maybe I'm just tired enough to follow through that threat and be damned with the consequences. I don't think you want to stay and find out.”

“I did not intend to stay any longer than I already have.” he seemed pleased, alarmingly, despite the fact he'd lost an eye and only succeeded in ruining her mood that had begun to lift just a little because of NotEnrique's efforts. “Our lesson is concluded for the day. You called for Skathe-Hrün and it answered without fail. The impure – Stricklander, always praised your intellect. Teaching you might prove..” he paused.

“Entertaining.” he settled on, with a smirk to match. “When we next meet, little huntress, I expect my eye to be returned.”

He didn't catch her splutter of a expletive as he left through the portal.

 


	2. Quartz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire brings Tobias up to speed, and shows him the Eye of Angor Rot. The fractured Trollhunters gang are not dealing with the loss of their best friend, Jim well -- especially when they try to go to school like nothing happened.

Jostled awake by the sounds of crashing in the room over, Claire's eyes snapped open. She blearily stared up at the ceiling, memory foggy, consciousness dazed, until the events of the night before rushed back into the forefront of her mind. Her lips pursed as she forced herself to rub at her tired eyes, despite their protest of stinging pain. Angor Rot had visited and quality sleep eluded her. She felt more groggy than ever and her headache hadn't tempered much.

Dragging herself from her bed, she shambled towards her baby brother's room, opening the door, skipping her manners of privacy for a black glare that would flay even the stoniest of skin. NotEnrique was out of his crib, in his troll form, chasing the eye he'd gouged from the assassin prior. For one humorous minute, she watched the changeling wrestle with the glass sphere, which darted side to side, very much alive and definitely seeking it's master.

“Get back here you little --” the troll spat, pouncing just a little too late as the eye rolled out from under him. He checked under his paws; ears pinning back and teeth bared. He followed it trying to make an escape out of the door, only to be stopped by Claire sweeping down and picking it up easily. NotEnrique gazed up and offered a toothy, apologetic grin.

She couldn't shake off the feeling that the eye was somehow able to see her. The orange iris trapped in the spherical glass burned brightly, and in her presence it shrunk a little. She directed her glare into the globe, muttering; “Even disembodied, you manage to _haunt_ me, Rot.”

Ignoring NotEnrique's bumbling attempts to explain himself, she picked him up by the scruff and tossed him back into his crib. He accepted that as adequate punishment for waking her up, and she left the baby's room to her own, eye still in hand. She could feel it shift in her palm, no doubt wanting to roll away, but she tossed it into a compartment of her jewellery box and slammed the lid shut before flopping onto her sweet, soft mattress.

Claire's eyelids fluttered closed. A gentle exhale left her; a smile touching her lips as she let her muscles relax –

The alarm went off.

* * *

 

Claire was determined not to let her tiredness slow her down. She'd already moped around long enough, succeeding in only crying and barely managing to get out of bed. She gave herself a pep talk in the mirror, glared at the jewellery box that housed Angor's eye, making sure to stuff it in her backpack where it was safe and, importantly, couldn't see anything and brushed her teeth with enough determination, she almost made her gum's bleed. The first order of business was checking her phone, as indubitably, Tobias had been just as worried sick as everyone else.

He wasn't the type to blow up her phone, so seeing the multitude of texts and missed calls from two nights before warmed her a little. She felt bad she put off contacting him, as he no doubt thought the worse. She sent a courtesy message, asking to meet up at the street corner near the canals, only to receive a huge list of shocked and crying emojis in return. She smiled, able to translate his meaning easily. She bid her father good morning, stuffed a piece of toast in her mouth and left to meet with her friend.

She'd never seen him pedal so fast on his bike and he almost barrelled straight into her as he rushed to greet her. Claire had enough time to raise her hand in a wave before Tobias yanked her into a crushing grip of an embrace.

“Claire, you're okay!” he cried, and she could've swore she heard a few sniffles as well. Laughing gently and tucking her hair back, she returned the embrace just as affectionately.

“Aww, were you worried about me, Toby?” she asked, breaking the heavy atmosphere with a bit of a tease, ruffling his chestnut coloured hair. “I thought you'd jump at a chance to get rid of me, what with being ' _totally evil_ ' and all.”

“Don't even joke about that.” the boy snaps with surprising ferocity, pulling back to show hardened, if a little cloudy eyes. His arms slipped from around her, hands settling for her forearms instead, lips constricted into a tight frown. She sobered up quickly. “Look, I've been a **bit** of a butt with all the accusations, but I wouldn't wish you _dead_ , Claire, for Heaven's sake! You're my friend! I can't lose you too..”

He paused, voice softened a little, head bowed and gaze avoiding her pointedly. “I've.. I've already lost Jim. AAARRRGGHHH!!! too. Did you know he was hit by Rotface's stupid poison dagger, back in the swamplands? He's almost _entirely_ stone. He didn't tell anyone and now he's going to--”

Seeing him on the verge of tears, Claire shushed him gently, kneeling a little to be more at eye level with him, hands fidgeting with his hair like her mother often did to calm her down before they settled on his shoulders. As pained as she was to learn about the Troll's coming death, she forced herself to be strong for Tobias' sake. No doubt her wailing would set him off, too. She nudged him to make him look at her. “Listen to me, Tobes, we haven't lost Jim. He's still alive. I know he is.”

He sniffled. She continued; “ – and your Wingman wouldn't have wanted to worry you. Every poison has an antidote, we can figure something out, even if I have to strong arm Angor Rot into telling us how to fix it.”

Tobias tugged away at the mention of the assassin, brows dipping into a furious glare intended for him. “Vendel's already had a look at him, Claire. There's no cure for Creeper's Sun. Why do you think someone like Angor Rot would use it? And – What do you mean, strong arm him?” A look of horror flashed over his face. “Don't tell me he's still in contact with you! Jeez, you'd think he'd have something better to do than to stalk a teenage girl now that he's free.”

Claire winced, directed the both of them to sit at the curb with their discarded bikes at their feet. “It's complicated, Tobes, but – the day I was gone.. ? I need to tell you about that.”

Tobias took the news surprisingly well when she revealed her unwilling position as the fae's acolyte. There was a touch of off-coloured humour for believing that he was right, but in this case, he didn't think Claire was genuinely a traitor. The circumstance was plainly obvious: she's just as much trapped as Angor Rot was, now. At the very least, her soul was intact and her will was not in the least bit broken. She looked more alive than ever to master the dark magic they intended to teach her.

It was still a lot for him to take in though – and Tobias couldn't imagine what Claire must have thought, standing there, having to talk to le Fay herself. That alone earned her commendation of willpower. An awkward silence settled over them as she'd finished explaining, with Toby wringing his hands, processing the information as the teen girl watched him in pensive quiet. He finally deigned to look at her.

“I have a lot of questions,” he began to break the silence. Seeing her dour face, however, he hesitated in starting off with the oppressive ones that danced on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he returned the nudge she gave to him when he grew upset with a crooked grin of braced teeth. “ – Is she single?”

The absurdity of the question cracked the tenseness and Claire giggled, shoving him at the shoulder. “Tobes!”

“I'm just saying.” he joked, unable to keep a straight face as he tried to keep the merriment going. “If Darci and I don't work out, I've gotta have _someone_ to fall back on. All the other girls are taken or turned me down, I'm not interested in men – you're Jim's beau – and I've put trolls and changelings on a _maybe_ for now.”

“That is _sooo_ gross, and.. ugh, _typical_!” She stifled a snort, covering her mouth as she did so. It was nice to laugh and joke around with a friend, something she felt like she hadn't done for weeks. “A-And who said I was Jim's beau? We're not, like, _official_.”

“Your blushing cheeks say otherwise, Claire.”

She punched him in the arm, eliciting a sharp shout of pain, before the two teens dissolved into laughter once more. Claire inwardly thanked Tobias to try and make them feel better by making a joke out of it, figuring it would be what Jim wanted. Her face softened at that thought, before sobering quietly. Yes, he wouldn't want them torn over him. They were both upset, but Claire was not going to let it deliberate them. Tobias wiped his eye, catching sight of his friend's resolve and silently shared it.

“I need to learn more about who and what I'm up against and the dark magic I'll be learning so I can control it and not let it take over me.” she murmurs, more as an announcement and plan of action than in conversation. “I don't trust Angor Rot will be honest with me, so I can't ask him, nor le Fay herself. The closest who might know..”

“Strickler.” intercepted Tobias, lip bitten in hesitance. “He disappeared after you'd vanished through the portal with Rot. He could be – anywhere. Dr. L even tried to call him, but his contacts are all dead-ends. _Nobody_ knows where he is.”

“Maybe a changeling? Someone that he worked close with..?” She prompted, brows knitting together as she tried to cast her mind back, though there wasn't anyone she could think of that might know where the man in question disappeared off to – even if he was reachable by their means. Aside from the portal she made to Bulgaria, which technically was assisted by Rot – she hadn't made a portal to any great distance before.

“Well.. there was that museum lady. Nomura.” he offered with a half-shrug. “But nobody knows where she is either – oh! That creepy trenchcoat guy! Mr. Evilman! Jim and I spotted Strickler making a shady deal with him like, way back when. He's gotta be a changeling, or a sympathizer.”

“I.. seriously doubt that is his name,” she said. “But that isn't much to go on either. What does he look like? Is he even a citizen? Information is key here, to a lot of things and all we have is an awful nickname--”

“Hey! My nicknames are the _**best**_.”

“ – An impending doom and Angor Rot's eye.” At Tobias' bizarre look of bewilderment, she swung her backpack around to her lap, opening the clasps to pull out the eye. It seemed.. still, strangely. Dead and inert. The orange iris were not as bright as they usually were and the lack of movement was a giveaway. Either it's magic had left, or perhaps Rot controlled it himself and was busy. Both outcomes seemed decent, though the latter implied a potential spy.

She expected Tobias to freak out – and he did, but not in the way she thought. He yanked it out of her hand, inspecting it with great interest. He even tilted it up into the morning light to get a better look at it. She remembered that rock collection he had and was just about to ask what he saw in it when he spoke.

“Angor's made of some pretty neat stuff.” he palmed the globe, turning the iris-caught centre towards him. “It's fused quartz.. _probably_. It's likely got some magic in there as well, given the owner. I bet it was crystal clear when he was born. Y'know I've been wanting to take a look at those effigy he makes, but they're always trying to kill us --”

“Okay,” she rasps, interrupting him before he got carried away. “So he's got fancy glass for eyes. How does _**that**_ help us?”

Tobias grinned, tossing the eye up and catching it, tapping the surface with the tip of a blunt nail. “Blinky said that trolls can unlock the potential of stone when cut correctly. How much you want to bet there is some gnarly magic just waiting to be cleaved into? You might not have Merlin's amulet, but it's got to count for something. Maybe you can embed it into the Shadowstaff – or just wear it.”

Claire snatched the globe quickly, much to the boy's chagrin, stuffing it back into her bag, voice resolute as she grounded out; “I don't like to be the buzzkill, Tobes, but Angor knows where I live and I'd rather not awaken to a dagger in my gut.”

“We have to do _something,_ though _!_ ” the boy urged, frown dipping his lips as he gazes imploringly at Claire, for once not suspiciously or hatefully, but worried and measured. “We can't just sit and hum quietly as Jim is in the Darklands and you are being trained for evil by a troll who'd rather kill us all for sport than help us.”

“I'm open to suggestion,” she stubbornly muttered. “ – Because I'm at a loss.”

Tobias searched her face, hope faltering across his green eyes. Planning wasn't the same without Jim. Nothing was the same. It had only been two days since he plunged into the Darklands, but it felt like centuries. His habits hadn't curbed either; he still texted him in the morning and found his bike's path subconsciously going towards the Lake Residence even though he knew Jim wasn't there. He was relying on them to figure something out, he's sure of it.

“Let's just.. get through school and meet up with the Blinkster after. He's sure to have a plan. He _ALWAYS_ has a plan.” Tobias settled on. “We'll just explain Jim's absence as some like, rare disease. Pretty sure nobody would care anyway.”

Claire winced, but knew it was a harsh truth. Even if they did care, it likely would be forgotten until he makes his reappearance – such was the fast moving life of high school. They picked up their bikes, fastening the helmets on tight and pedalled off towards their educational institute.

* * *

It seemed the kids of Arcadia Oaks High cared a lot more than Claire gave them credit for, but not in the right ways. She leaned against the set of lockers as Tobias wrestled with his combination that Jim often helped unlock for him, drawing a sharp intake of breath when she spotted a figure in teal swaggering towards them. She nudged Toby to look up, which he did – and shared her annoyance immediately.

Whilst Steve Palchuk was maturing physically – Claire could spot a hair or two beginning to sprout on his chin – he certainly hadn't shared that same development behaviourally. They were late in the school year and he _still_ remained a firm bully no matter how much Jim did not care for his forced rivalry. Tobias himself did not even quiver or look away at him, when earlier on he would've dragged Claire off to their class before he even got too close.

Thankfully, he seemed to have laid off the interest in her after the school's production of Romeo and Juliet, but that didn't make him any more tolerable. He slung his heavy arms around the shoulders of them both, making sure to be extra rough with Tobias as he yanked him close and generally off-balanced the smaller teen. He steadied himself by reaching for his locker, but winced as he bashed his hand against the metal.

“If it isn't two-thirds of the Loser's Club.” the bully crowed. He removed his arm around Claire's shoulders just in time, as she was about ready to break it, in favour of grappling Tobias into a headlock and giving him a noogie under much protest of the boy. He tried to push Steve away, to no avail. “The duke of Dorkdom's been abandoned by his king, Jimmy Fake Jr! That's just rich. Like, how sad do you have to be where even _**Jim**_ is ditching you?”

“Lay off, Steve.” bit Claire, grabbing his wrist to wrench Tobias free of his grip. The boy stumbled away, though turned to give the blond haired teen a vicious glare that only served to make him crack a grin.

“And the king's dorkette! You used to be _cool_ Claire, until you started hanging out with him.” lampooned Palchuk, tugging his wrist from her hand. He didn't quite get up in her face as he would with a boy, given the various onlookers. The last time he'd gotten physical – just a light shove – hadn't earned him the best student body standing. So he kept his distance, shoulders squared back and lording his height instead. “Unless you're about to tell me that you've dumped him and came to your senses.. ?”

“First of all, we're not dating!” Still couldn't stop the flush that burned the tips of her ears. “The only senses I've came to is my common sense, Steve. You're _still_ just an immature bully who can't see past the end of his nose. Maybe you'll wake up one day and realise that Jim doesn't give a _damn_ about you or your petty forced rivalry.”

Now it was Steve's turn to flush, though it wasn't from embarrassment, but rather red-faced anger, words blundering. His hands clenched into fists and he did take a step towards Claire. He refused to hit her though, which resulted in a lot of floundered looking and shaking fists as he tried to ignore the students eavesdropping and watching them.

Tobias wiggled around from the two staring each other down, making a move to grab at Claire's arm. “C'mon, he's not worth it. We're gonna be late for class.”

As he spoke, Steve decided since he couldn't (and didn't want to) hit Claire, he defaulted to the next best thing: Tobias. He took a swing, aiming for the back of the boy's head. She predicted he might make a move like that, and pulled Toby forward towards her to avoid the blow. He fell forward and almost took her down with him, but it was better than getting hit by Steve.

Toby was beginning to tell her to drop it and leave when Claire already shoved Steve at the lockers in a surprising force that no student expected, arm shoved into his neck and keeping him in place. If she was able to brawl Trolls and even keep up with Angor Rot blow for blow – then Palchuck was _nothing_. Fury drove her – agitation that whispered in the back of her mind in the same tone she envisioned the Shadowstaff took. It was like her own voice – but more.. dulcetly dark and incessantly whispering.

Ignoring the low chatter amongst the students and Steve's wide-eyed look of confusion and a touch of fear, she glared daggers at him that was enough to silence him into a stupor. She held him there for a moment as she began to become rapidly aware of her surroundings. She managed to snatch a glance of herself in the reflection of the locker's door.

The Sigil burned at half of her face before it dispersed the moment she snapped out of her state. Claire's gaze slowly shifted to Steve, whose terror confirmed that he had indeed, saw the mark.

The school's bell for classes rung.


	3. Rash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire and Tobias continue to struggle with the prospect of leading a normal, regular life whilst Jim remains on their mind. Claire makes a grave decision regarding it, dragging the boy along with her for the ride.

The bell's scream to rally the students to their classes was enough to make Claire hastily stumble away from the bewildered, frightened Steve, hands tugging up her jacket's collar, as if that would suddenly make her invisible to the rest of the pupil's prying eyes. Tobias shared her grimace, placing his hand on her back and ushering her swiftly through the hallways, making sure nobody got close enough to question it. He, at least, tried to make her look on the bright side;

“Maybe he just thinks it's a gnarly light-up tattoo.” he offered weakly, catching her concerned look. “ – Okay, so it's not the **best** reasoning but, let's be real, his mind isn't going to jump to _freaky ancient assassins_.”

“No,” she agrees as they round the corner, voice dropping when she spied a bespectacled youth looking to grab their attention. She pretended like she didn't see him, head angled down towards Toby. “But _**his**_ might.”

Eli Pepperjack was a good kid, in her eyes. Studious, if a little bit of a doormat for people like Steve to walk over, though he'd gotten a little better later on in the school year, especially after Jim stood up for him once – and theatre had improved his confidence by leaps and bounds – but he still defaulted to letting Palchuk get away with half the things he pulls off that would earn him a punch in the face from most students. Claire always felt bad for him, but right now, he was the last person she wanted to see.

Because whilst he may be relatively harmless and a friend of a friend – he was bordering on discovering the truth of the other world. She's caught an earful of his theories during drama classes and he was correct in most of his assumptions, given the information he knew. The names may not have been right, but he'd snapped photos of shadows of goblins or trolls. She was somewhat thankful he was known as a bit of a conspiracy nut amongst the student body – they did not need the school knowing of the other world's existence, for their own safety.

“H-Hey! Claire! Toby! No Jim, huh?” the teen asked, voice cracking a little as he tried to catch up to them, not catching that they were swiftly trying to power walk _away_ from him. “Is.. is he okay? Please tell me he's okay, I don't really have his number so I can't ask him myself --”

“Jim's takin' a few days off, Eli.” Tobias swivelled around to deal with Eli, shoving Claire forward to indicate that she should keep going. Her eyes briefly rose skyward as she thanked Toby for his heroic sacrifice, weaving around the loitering students to dip into her class with little to no issue.

She had Spanish for her first lesson block, so at least she did not have to stress to much about her work. Even if her mind constantly drifted to worrying about Jim, she knew there was nothing she could do right now. She had to appear strong and get through the school day. As much as she wanted flip the institute off and take however long it may be off.

Who goes to school when their best friend was in danger?

_I need to stop packing the Shadowstaff_ , she thinks, sliding into her seat with a sigh, knowing that her doubts and disparaging thoughts were linked with the artefact. She glared at the hilt of the aforementioned relic when she reached for her Spanish textbook, acutely aware that Palchuk, once he'd drifted in near the final bell's warning was sitting three seats behind her and boring holes in the back of her head.

Señor Uhl opened up the lesson in Spanish as he always did, the sounds of shuffling bags and scrapes of paper being filtered in. He took the register, calling Jim's name twice with a frown. His gaze naturally drifted towards Claire for an answer, as his parent hadn't rung in to fill them in. She cleared her throat.

“ – Jim's not very well.” she answered, eyes kept to the whiteboard to avoid the heads that turned the second she spoke. “I'll make sure to give him any homework.”

Uhl nodded in appreciation, resuming the rest of the registration. Claire tried to relax her stiff muscles into the plastic seats provided for them. She managed to get her hands on her knapsack when she saw the surface of Angor's eye peek out. She stared at it. It stared back.

_**Oh no.** _

Claire inched the bag towards the edge of the desk and for a solid minute it felt like nobody but herself at the eye was in the room. She prayed to whatever God there may be above, prayed to le Fay herself that the eye would not move. She slowly tried to reach for the clasp of the bag to zip it shut, when the globe sprung out.

She swiped futility in the air to try and catch it, attracting attention with the motion as she flailed in a grand effort to grab ahold of the eye. Her fingertips managed to brush across the glass surface, but only succeeded in propelling it upwards in an unintended juggle. Eventually this gained Uhl's attention, whom snapped; “-- Claire!”

Hands slamming the desk harder than intended, Claire offered a forced, toothy grin. “S-Sorry, Señor Uhl! I was, just, swatting a fly.” She pointedly stared in front as the rest of the class slowly did the same. Uhl eyed her critically, before returning back to the textbook.

“Now if there will be no further disruption.. Shannon – read paragraph three.”

Claire's gaze hit the ground, searching frantically for the black sphere. She couldn't find it anywhere on the floor, nor could she hear it. The door to the classroom was shut, which left no option other than the propped window. She scoured the windowsill, almost missing the globe rolling itself towards the open. It was surprisingly stealthy and alive – no doubt Angor Rot was controlling it, now. She couldn't simply sit there and watch it get away, as his eye could prove useful leverage. She bolted out her seat, much to the class's murmuring and just missed the eye. It plopped into the grass outside.

“Claire Nuñez, return to your seat immediately!” the teacher boomed. The teen girl winced and, deciding that she was already in enough trouble as it is, decided to follow up on her earlier thoughts. She couldn't waste hours of the day at school when Jim was in the Darklands. She ignored Uhl, up until she got to the classroom door and heard;

“If you leave my classroom, young lady, then you will have detention for the rest of the school year.” he warned. “And you will be expected in the principals office!”

“Sorry,” she lamely said, leaving the class and slamming the door shut behind her before jogging towards Tobias' Geography classroom to collect him. It was lucky they shared the same building block for the first lesson and she doubted a small glass sphere rolling through grass would get very far.

Stopping at the door, she gathered her breath, resting her hands on her knees before looking through the window. As expected, Tobias was leaning his cheek on his palm, utterly bored with the lesson. She opened the door without warning – and he shot her a confused look. The teacher did much the same.

“Sorry, Miss, but, the principal would like to see Toby.” The boy in question groaned. “May he be excused?”

The teacher nodded, letting Tobias leave. She did at least look a little apologetic that he had to make the walk of shame out of the class before explaining the truth in a hurried voice, grabbing his arm and pulling him along as she ran. “ – Angor's eye escaped my backpack. We've got to get it before it returns to him.”

“Claire – wait – in the middle of CLASS?!”

“I'm aware,” she barrelled through the double doors to conserve her momentum, her measured run turning to a sprint as she circled around the blocks to where the Spanish classes windows overlooked, making sure to duck and avoid any potential gazers. The eye was not near the window, but she could see the disturbed grass where it had rolled through. She followed it, much to Tobias' panicked chagrin.

“You're going to get so much detention,” he ruefully proclaimed. “You just – walked out of _**Uhl's**_ class? That's – oh, Claire, you're in so much trouble, your _grandkids_ are going to get detention.”

“How can you even find Uhl scary any more when you faced _**Bular**_?”

“Because teachers like Uhl determine if the rest of your actual, _normal_ life is going to be a breeze, or a slog of detention, extra homework and social stagnation and I don't know about you, but I'd rather not spend the times when I'm not in mortal danger sitting quietly and doing sheets during my lunch and breaktime.”

Claire crouched to the grass, fingers pressed to the rustled soil. The trail ended there, quite a bit away from the building, but not entirely out of school grounds. It hadn't buried underneath – and without the Shadowstaff, there wasn't a way Angor could've collected. She hummed softly, brows knit in concentration as she tried to pick out any stand out detail.

“Hello? Earth to Claire?” Toby said, looking over his shoulder as if he expected a hoard of disappointed teachers to descend on them. She waved him off. “Look, if you want to make your school-life hell, that's fine by me, but, can I go back to Geography?”

“Ah-hah.” she affirms, pointing at the left most patch of grass. It seemed the eye had jumped, likely to avoid getting too much dirt on the glass surface. She moved onwards, only stopped by Toby grabbing her wrist. “ – Tobes, we have to go, or it will get away!”

“You'll be DITCHING if you go out of school grounds,” he told her, yet when he looked at her, seeing her lack of care and too much determination, he relented with a long, drawn out sigh. “And.. you totally don't care. We're going to ditch school, aren't we?”

“We are.”

* * *

 

They'd wandered quite a bit out of the school's grounds, following the breadcrumb trail of signs that Claire managed to pick up on. She felt like quite the huntress the troll often nicknamed her as, tracking and pathfinding like she had, but eventually the trail stopped at a drain leading towards the sewers. She had no doubt it must have rolled down there, and with the type of special glass Toby confirmed it as – the fall wouldn't have shattered it.

“We are not going down there,” the boy piped up, tone authoritative as he wheezed and tried to gather his breath from the walk. He regretted not turning back and retrieving their bikes, seeing as they were already in so much trouble in the first place. No doubt it would've been useful to avoid the cops if they spotted the kids out and about during school hours.

“You're going to go to Trollmarket and see if Blinky has came up with a useable plan to rescue Jim.” she affirmed, grasping his outstretched hand to haul herself up, much to her legs protest. Toby looked like he was about to protest, but given the fact that the other option was spending all day in the sewers looking for an eye or returning to school, he grumbled.

“That suspiciously sounds like you're not coming with me.”

She offered a saddened smile and a nod. “ – I'm going to head down to the sewers. I bet my lucky jacket that Angor Rot is down there.”

“All the more reason to come to Trollmarket, Claire!” he frowned. She really could be just as stubborn as Jim at times. He argued out of principal, but Tobias knew there was little point in doing so when her mind was already set. Instead, he settled a hand on her shoulder, forcing her to look at him as he said; “Okay. Fine. But promise me, you'll send an emergency text if things start going south.”

Claire placed her hand over his, thumb slipping under his palm and squeezed lightly in reassurance. “I _**promise**_.”

Satisfied that was probably the best answer he'd get from her, he pulled away to start an agonizing long walk to the canal entrance of Trollmarket. He'd rather not go through the sewers himself if he could avoid it, which with a bit of effort, he could. Claire looked around the empty street, spotting an alleyway in between two buildings with a high concrete wall at the end. Perfectly isolated to use the Shadowstaff safely.

She headed into the alleyway, checking each corner to make sure there wasn't any dropouts graffiting the walls. The only presence was a stray cat that seemed wary of her and opening her bag, she stalled when she grabbed her staff, looking to the animal. She tugged out her wrapped sandwich, picking off the bread and peeling the ham off, broadcasting her movements slow and deliberately as not to spook the cat, before kneeling and setting it down on what looked like a clean bit of a paper.

The cat scampered behind the bin, but she could spot it's glowing eyes peering out from the shadows, watching her with a scrutiny, beyond simple risk assessment, that did not befit a supposed “ _dumb animal_ ”. Odd. Focused back onto her task, she created a portal to the sewers and stepped through.

The first thing that assaulted her was the pungent odour of rotten eggs intermixed with strong bleach befouling the air, which confirmed her location. Her nose crinkled, portal closing behind her as she dragged a scarf from her backpack and wrapped it loose enough that she could cover the lower half of her face. It didn't filter much, but it was something. She had no idea how trolls could stand living underground or regularly travelling the sewer network, but it wasn't too dissimilar to Trollmarket.

One thing was for certain: if she couldn't find Angor Rot, she wasn't going to stay for long. Claire set forth, staff still held and at the ready for any danger she may come across, but the only thing she spotted or heard was the scurry of rats above on the churning pipelines. Low-powered lights lit the tunnels, embedded into the walls that generally cast an eerie dim glow. She also saw some crumpled or trampled litter that had fallen into the drains from the street, but nothing like the eye she was searching for. The silence caved way to let her hear her own controlled breathing and soft patter of her footfall.

She could feel that _he_ was here. It was like a presence – the sort of primal instinct towards feeling someone's eyes on them. She couldn't quite explain it, but she knew with an acute clarity that defied words. She didn't know if that was to do with her heightened senses or because of their bond. Probably a mixture of both.

Sweat pricked at the back of her neck as her gazed bounced across the same-looking walls and same looking twists and turns. She hadn't been walking for that long, yet she wouldn't be able to pinpoint where she was under Arcadia. It was treacherously deceptive in how labyrinth like the network spread; something that took most trolls their extended lifetime to successfully navigate more than once. It was becoming apparent that she wouldn't find Angor Rot like this.

_He_ , would find **her**.

Claire smartly decided to stop at a location where a street grate was overhead. There was a sturdy enough looking pipeline, albeit somewhat rusted tangled above that she could use to grip onto and try and open the heavy metal slab and force daylight into the tunnel. She doubted he'd make her wait until nightfall to making his grand appearance, although she wouldn't put it past him to turn her advantage into a disadvantage.

Thirty minutes pass and she was beginning to feel a little nauseous from the horrible smell. Not enough to get sick, but she was not ignoring the shuddering of her stomach with every measured inhale she took. Another five, and she was about ready to create a portal out of the tunnels when she saw the twin amber glow of eyes. She grew irritated that she hadn't been able to hear him, but she supposed a troll as old as Angor had managed to silence his steps long ago.

“You decided to abandon your school in favour of meeting me.” the assassin began, tone bemused. Whilst Claire doubted he enjoyed being tethered to le Fay through the Copula, she figured that he liked it a grand deal more than when Strickler wore the ring. He seemed.. less tense. It wasn't a constant battle of will as the changeling struggled to keep him in check. Perhaps this was the closest thing to feeling whole he could experience, whereas Strickler was a constant reminder that he was _not_.

“I'm flattered. Truly, I am.” he couldn't have been more sardonic even if he tried. “Continue making wise decisions and you may make a competent witch yet.”

“I see you've got your eye back.” she notes sourly, gaze locked to the eye that was now slotted neatly back into it's socket, as if it never had been misplaced. She heard a low thrumming rumble – momentarily startled to hear that was indeed a bit of _laughter_. Claire tried to look unperturbed, leaning on the staff.

“A useful little magic trick. Your fleshbag blood magic may be powerful, but it's utility severely limited concerning practical uses.” he hums in mock thought. “Perhaps I shall carve out your eye and see if you can animate it much the same. Wouldn't you like to learn that, little huntress?”

“I'll – I'll _**pass**_.” She winced, eyes squinting squeamishly at even the thought of a sharp object near them, let alone performing something as ominous sounding as blood magic. Hopefully something she didn't have to perform.  


Angor gestured grandly for her to follow him. “ – Come. We begin our lesson.”

 


	4. Learning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire begins one of her first of many lessons with Angor Rot in the sewer network underneath Arcadia. Tobias and Blinky make little progress, but a startling component reveals itself..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. Schoolwork!

_This is.. wrong_ , Claire thinks as she stalks behind Angor's form, eyes boring holes into his back as they traversed deeper into the tunnel. She should be fighting him, or at the very least leaving, not following like a duckling to learn whatever foul magic he and his master conjured. It left a bad taste in her mouth, similar to whenever she used the black magic contained within the Shadowstaff. A part of her detested how little protest she put up, but she had a sneaking suspicion that she hadn't a choice in the matter any more. Fate was not as fickle as it seemed – and hers was determined.

Angor Rot served as a teacher _**and**_ a jailer, then. A guiding hand into the dark path she would tread as well as the executioner's deliverance if she went astray. Dread pooled at the pit of her stomach and she hugged the staff closer to her as they walked. The sound of her footfalls and his near silent ones was the only thing that echoed and she was getting quite sick of it. So, clearing her throat, she voiced a question.

“Have.. you ever killed one of her disciples before?”

At first, Claire thought he hadn't heard her. He remained walking ahead, not even giving her the courtesy of slowing down or glancing over his shoulder. Eventually, a response rumbled out. She supposed this was his conversational tone, if such a thing existed for Rot. “ – Yes. Many. Half of which have been on her orders. The other.. hm, _self-defence_.”

The teen couldn't fight the small smile. Maybe she found a bit of a hope spot in the fact that not all of the disciples had been sycophants or fanatics, but perhaps like her – bullied into the position, unwilling and unwanted.. and that they had hated Rot as much as she had. She gained more confidence to pry, if the troll's mood was pleasant enough that he would actually answer her without the rhetoric's or ridicule.

“What were they like.. ? Who were they?”

“You would be long dead before I even finished the first century worth of names.” he told, finally now tilting his head to throw a glance over his shoulder, appraising her with burning, orange eyes. She met his gaze briefly, always challenging, before jogging up a little to fall into step beside him instead of behind. He scoffed under his breath, but made no comment on it.

“But I suppose I shall feed your curiosity. The disciples before you were anyone. Shopkeepers. Tribe leaders. Feral children. Whatever may benefit le Fay at the time. They do all share one trait with you, however, in that you are all _insufferable_.”

“Have there always been just one at a time?” she asks, unaware of Skathe-Hrün's inky bark bleaching back to white, until it retracted into it's hilt. She blinked, staring at the staff. Was she really that comfortable in Angor's presence? In any case, she clipped the hilt back to her belt, though kept her hands ready at her sides in case of a sudden attack.

“Not always.” he muses and Claire struggled to discern the tone in his voice. It drifted between the familiar gravel of scraping stone and a more smoother reverence. Like a hum of thought between each word – or absentmindedness. “I despise teaching in groups. It stifles learning, having too much conflicting, amateur magic in the air.”

“What about other wizards or witches? Is le Fay the only living one?”

“Human magicians are a dying breed.” he notes in what she could only assume was agreement. His lips twisted into a fanged smirk that always sent a shiver up Claire's spine in it's raw cruelty. “You are gifted with so much power, so much potential – and yet your fleshy bodies are too weak to sustain it. It's pitiful. Morgan le Fay is no more alive than I am – nothing more than a husk of her former self, living on borrowed time and magic. But, she continues to exist, if nothing more than out of spite to Myrddin.”

“Who?”

Angor Rot halted in a small chamber. Claire followed suit, confused, as she looked around. She hadn't been paying attention to her surroundings as they travelled, though something told her she wasn't underneath Arcadia anymore. Where, exactly, she couldn't tell. The troll seemed satisfied over something, and wandered towards the pile of rocks that formed a perfect perch for him to recline against and oversee the rest of the room.

“Bring forth your weapon, little huntress.” he begins and she complies, retrieving the hilt from her belt and summoning the staff with nothing more than a passing thought. She readies herself, preparing for combat, though when Angor made no move for his dagger, she figured that perhaps it was not a battle he would be training her with.

“Skathe-Hrün has been the focus of Morgan le Fay for generations, bequeathed to her head acolytes to shepherd the rest into her shadow. Usually it would take you decades to ascend to such a rank, to be worthy to hold the staff, let alone **misuse** it as you do. But times have changed.”

The troll continues and Claire finds herself oddly memorized – beyond that of mere curiosity or sacrifice to learn for the greater good. “You must think of it as extension of yourself. A part of you. Welcome it into your soul – do not fight against it's suggestions. Power cannot flow if there is an obstruction of will.”

“Are you suggesting that I allow myself to get corrupted?” she interjected suddenly, having hung on his words, she was frightened by what he asked of her. His smirk twitched, gaze vastly unfeeling.

“Letting the power dominate you is corruption, but if you seize it, wield it and make it bend to your will, that is control.” Words of disagreement bounced on the tip of her tongue, but she did not voice them, even as Angor gestured above them, to the low-powered lights affixed to the walls. Somehow, she doubted the person who offered his flesh and soul for power was the right person to teach her, and she hated that it took only until now to think that.

“Devour the light,” he instructs.

Swallowing thickly, Claire raised the staff high, prongs pointed at the fixture. She exhaled slowly, letting her thoughts turn sour and bitter to fuel the dark magic. It flickered at first, casting eerie snap shots of shadows to dance across the wall until the light dimmed and diminished. She repeated the action for all of the lights until the chamber was drenched in darkness – save for the bright glow of his eyes.

She blinked rapidly, trying to let her eyes adjust to the lack of light before Rot's next instruction, but it seemed he was all too eager to continue on with the lesson.

“Now, create a portal to transport us both into the forest. One that does not require either of us to move.” Although Claire was effectively blind, he had perfect vision in the dark and could see the way her face twisted up in confusion. The troll added; “The staff is your focus. Make it do what you **will** it to.”

The teen adjusted her grip, both hands wrapped around the metal engraved hilt. She tried to think of a way to envision transporting them both into the nondescript area of Arcadia's forest. Usually she thought of a gateway or an open door from one place to another, but that proved to do nothing but have the portal magic sit idle in the prongs of the staff. She cleared her mind, refocused, and tried again.

Her mind turned to Rot's words, about allowing the artefact into her soul. She didn't know quite what he meant by that, but she often ignored the low-hum of barely audible whispers on her mind, like a constant chatter in her ears that always seemed just out of her reach of hearing. She tried not to let the overwhelming sense of dread and pooling fear swallow her whole and drown her in a sea of sadness and sorrow.

This time, she let herself be open to it's suggestion. She gave in and listened.

She drew in a sharp intake of air as her mind was barraged by what felt like hundreds of voices speaking at once – the staff quivering in her hands, purple light sparking out from the prongs. Some dispersed into nothingness, whereas others remained, curling around her, circling at her feet. She steadied herself, lest she lost her grip and tried to listen to what they were saying. It wasn't English, that much she could be certain.

Claire could feel that, whatever was being spoken, the tone carried such a great undercurrent of misery and grief that it felt like a weight rested on her heart. She had never faced such pensive melancholia that depressed her and threatened to shake up her will. With it, however, came the power – the fuel, to feed the staff, like a perpetual cycle. The lights grew until there was enough to form a circle around her feet, bathing the entire chamber in a purple hue.

A shroud of shadows emerged from the tip of the staff, unlike anything she'd seen before. It was more grey than black, but just as consuming as it swept across the chamber and engulfed both her and Angor Rot. Her vision was blinded and she felt a great tug made at her spine. When the vertigo stopped, she found herself collapsed on the forest floor, gasping for breath and reeling from the dizziness. It was a jarring juxtaposition, from the acrid stench of rotten eggs and moist atmosphere to fresh, open air and soft warmth from the lazy evening.

“Good,” she vaguely heard Angor Rot, somewhere above her. Her palms pressed heavily into the grass, before slowly rolling to her knees, palming her hair back behind her ear. His blurry claw came into view and she scrutinized it, before slowly accepting the helping hand. The second her fingertips touched the stone skin, she was hauled to her feet and left to balance herself. “ – Better than I expected. You might as well have brought the entire chamber with us.”

“What?” She glanced behind him, blinking owlishly at the sight of the debris from the tunnels. The dizziness had not subsided and she leaned heavily on the white bark of the Shadowstaff. Everything felt like it was spinning, for some reason. Her throat was dry, her legs felt numb and weak.

“You're crying.” Claire froze, head slowly angling up to catch sight of Angor's face, which held a mystifying look. He seemed so much further away than she thought – or maybe she had slipped down from the staff? Either way, she shakily rose a hand to touch at her wet cheeks before roughly wiping at her eyes. Her stomach churned violently, but she forced herself to ignore it.

“The staff..” she slurred. “.. When I let it.. speak..? When I listened, it – God, I've never heard such.. **_suffering_ ** and sorrow. It was like a thousand voices crying at once.” She paused. Her stomach quavered to the point that she could not resist it any longer.

“Oh.” she said dumbly. “I'm going to be sick.”

Whilst she didn't expect him to hold her hair back, Angor had the courtesy to look away as she retched her guts out in the grass.

 

Angor Rot had decided that they had done enough today, on the account of her 'weak fleshbag body.' Always a way with words, she thought grizzly, slugging herself towards the canals of their suburb. Even if moving was the last thing she wanted to do, but the thought of using the staff again and travelling through a portal would upset her already delicate tummy. She had the foresight to pack a bottle of water in her bag, so at least she cleansed her palette.

Sinking to the nearby bench and practically melting against the wooden slats, she gingerly eased her phone out of her pocket to check on Tobias. He'd sent two texts, with an hour between (had it really been so long?) to inform her that Blinky had plans.. just not the right plan to spring Jim out of the Darklands. And that if he had to read another troll book without translation he was going to go crazy. She smiled fondly and sent a quick message that she'd be on her way.

Ten minutes into her walk, her phone pinged. She checked the notification to see it was from Toby.

' _How did the showdown with Rot go?_ ' it read. A long frustrated groan escaped her lips as she typed her reply, hoping that with every heavy button press, it truly conveyed her strain.

' _Wasn't a showdown TP. Training and it was a success. Learning wise – I feel like death health-wise_.'

There was a much longer interval between the next message, to the point she was descending the stone steps into the canal when Tobias responded: ' _Spoke with the Blinkser – he says chocolate energizes you after using dark magic. Chocolate, ginseng, vanilla, rosewater and.. strawberries. Yum_.'

The last thing she wanted right now was to eat. Her stomach turned even at the thought of it and she stored her phone away in exchange for the key to Trollmarket.

The fluorescent lighting of the market's charged crystals did not soothe her pounding headache in the slightest, tension throbbing in her temple as she squinted and forced her way past throngs of milling trolls. Most of the residents had become known to her face, but even still some were still apprehensive about a human amongst them, especially without their Trollhunter. She made it to Blinky's library as fast as she could.

The sight of the four-armed troll buried nose-deep into three books and one larger codex on supported on the table was a common one. Tobias lying on the ground, sprawled at the feet of the stone statue of AAARRRRGGHH!!! less so. He was surrounded by several books, all of which seemingly read if she guessed their state of disarray.

Claire cleared her throat to announce her presence. “ – Any luck?”

“Ah, Miss Claire,” Two of Blinky's six eyes spared her a glance before returning to his book, his single free arm gesturing to the stone wall that was littered with chalk drawings. The plans, she assumed. All of which were fiercely annotated or crossed out all together. “As Tobias no doubt already informed you, I surely have no shortage of plans – but the correct one, to spring young Master Jim from his dark prison, is yet to be decided.”

“On the plus side,” Tobias' voice rang out from under the cover of a tome. “The Amulet of Merlin hasn't called for anyone, so, we know Jimbo's.. alive, at least. I've been sending him some snacks through the fetch.”

“Speaking of snacks!” announced Blinky, hand outstretching to nab the chocolate bar from Tobias' hands before he could send it into the fetch. He made a noise of protest, though quietened when he handed it to Claire. “ – You must keep up your strength, my dear girl. If you truly are set on this.. path and you believe you can control it, then you must ensure that you are always in top condition. Do **not** fall to it's influence.”

She could feel her throat tighten involuntarily at the prospect of eating, even as she peeled back the wrapper. He seemed to sense her reluctance, so he added. “Trust me, Miss Claire, you will feel better. More so than if you simply recovered without the nutrients.”

Claire took a bite, though instead of rejecting it like she thought her body would, she found herself quite ravenous. The chocolate bar was eaten rather quickly and as Blinky predicted, she did feel better. Her headache cleared bit by bit and she could feel her mood lift enough that she noticed it. Discarding the wrapper in her pocket, she clasped her hands together.

“Thanks, I, uh, needed that.” she murmured. “Do you have any history books about Killahead? Like, it's origin and creation. Maybe there's a way we can open it without a Trollhunter. Or maybe even on the amulet or Merlin itself.”

“A few Trollish ones, yes.” Blinky lowered the books he was reading, tagging the corners as he drifted deeper into the bowels of the library, scouring the shelves, voice sounding distant and absentminded as his mind worked. “All of which I have read three times now and have gotten nowhere with, but I do believe a fresh pair of eyes often sees details often overlooked..”

He collected two, stacking them on his bottom left arm, pausing to stop at a shelf closer to the entrance. “ – But for the Amulet..? A few mentions in the brief recapitulation.. my brother documented many things, but scarcely did he have chance to study the amulet. A shame, as he mentored the great Deya herself.”

A pause, his hand rubbing his stony chin in thought as he adds; “Perhaps Morgan le Fay's spellbook might have made mention of it, if not just to study her former mentor's magics and contraptions, but, alas, we do not have access to that book any more.”

“I can ask Angor Rot,” Claire pitched in. “I think he stole it from me when we discovered the spell we needed. He either has it, or he gave it back to Strickler.”

“Either option does not seem favourable.” the troll grumbled, tugging a tome from one shelf to add to the pile on his arm. Both he and the teen girl remained unaware to Tobias' wide eyes and slack jaw, nor stammering attempts to grab their attention. “ – I abhor the idea of you associating with that troll, let alone asking him questions, Miss Claire. No doubt he will lie, regardless.”

“Uhh... guys?”

“Despite what you think, Blinky, I believe he actually has some kind.. of like, code of honour. It's a hunter thing. He seems to respect certain rules that go beyond that of the ring's control over him.” she intercepted. The room at this point had begun to tint in a nice, blue glow. “If it's in his best interest.. he'll tell the truth.”

“Guys!”

Claire and Blinky snapped towards Tobias, only to catch sight of the amulet floating in mid air, it's metal clock hands making a full revolution before shooting off – and pinning itself to the chest of AAARRRRGGHH!!!

 


End file.
